


Champions in the Ruins of Kirkwall

by JeBois



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeBois/pseuds/JeBois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out Kirkwall is basically the same in a post apocalyptic wasteland. Except this time with less swords and more guns. Still lots of magic.</p><p>Carver-centric, probably going to end up being Fenris/Carver, but who knows. Rated Explicit for safety, planning on earning that rating in later chapters.</p><p>Inspired in large part by "The Other Hawke" by tanukiham (if you haven't read it, you're missing out) and a lot of Fallout.</p><p>Update: Also, forgot to mention warning for graphic descriptions of violence. It is Dragon Age after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started to write a fanfiction in normal Kirkwall, but I'm shite with writing stuff with swords in it. Plus, Carver with a shotgun is just plain rad. Hope y'all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed up some stuff, most notably Garrett is now Marian. Realized I was kind of just wholesale robbing some stuff from other fics *cough theotherhawke cough* and realized I really wanted to do my own story, and I like FemHawke better anyways. More of a badass and all that. Hope y'all still like it.

“Well, this should be fun.”

 

Marian looked back at Carver with her mouth tight lipped. Carver grimaced, his upper lip drawing towards his nostrils, front teeth slightly bared. He knew only too well what that meant. What was going to come next was not going to be easy, and it certainly wasn’t going to be fucking fun. He hoped the elves that lived in this area wouldn’t mind the mess that was about to ensue. Or all the noise. Or they could mind it. This whole blighted city was garbage anyway.

“I’ll get us in the door, you charge in your inimitable style, kill these fuckers, then we find Anso’s stolen goods and head back to get paid. When I say go, go. And if we’re lucky, we might even get some extra coin out of this.”

Of course, Marian gets to decide when to go, Carver thinks. He tightened his grip on his handle, finger twitching over just over the trigger.   
Stupid Marian with her stupid face and stupid words. Where’d she even learn that shit? They had the same schooling growing up and Carver can’t even spell inimitable. He tried spelling it out in his head. ‘I’,’M’,’I’,’M’...’A’....’N’....’T’-

 

“GO!”

 

Carver cursed at himself for losing attention. Only thing worse than Marian would be explaining to his mother why he let his sister die over some petty coins. The air tightened as Marian concentrated her powers. That meant this was going to be loud. It went too fast, but Carver knew Marian well enough to know that the air shifting meant lightning. The wooden door burst apart at the seams as soon as the PK made contact. Carver pulled his double-barrel up to his chest for better aim.

 

It was all over before it began. The mercenaries inside were clearly not prepared for any surprise visits today, thankfully.

Inside the house was just as desolate as the rest of this area. Nothing inside to collect for Anso, and none of these mercenaries were carrying anything more than a few coppers. Carver sighed deeply as he broke open his gun and removed the spent casings, before snapping it shut. Another golden opportunity turned to dust.

Kirkwall was no better than Fereldan. Maybe less darkspawn, but no less violence, no fewer problems. After rechecking what was left of the mercenaries, he spat on the floor before turning to follow Marian out back into the slums.

 

Behind them in the streets outside were four men bristling with energy that meant only one thing Carver had grown to know too well in the past months. And these were much better armed than the last.   
They were speaking to Marian about something, and they didn’t seem happy. Something about lost slave needing to be reclaimed. Carver darted his eyes across the men.   
  
Fuck.

  
There was nothing inside, definitely not a slave. And if you can’t get what you came for, you would settle for something of equal value. Like an attractive young woman. Who wasn’t a noble. Who was just another refugee. Who wouldn’t be missed.

 

Fuck.

 

Carver did his best to size up the situation.

Two of the men carried rifles. Three Oh Eights, no joke. The third had a sub, still holstered. Bad mistake for him, if it came down to it. And the last had a rather large handgun drawn. Magnum from the look of it.

Fuck. Fuck.

His sister was exhausted. Shoulders slumped, heavy on her feet. No chance she could help.

 

Fuuuck.

 

His weapon was still unloaded, he had thought the fighting was done. Maybe if he punched the first one hard enough, then wrestle the second while Marian got her wits about her...  
He started to step out into the streets when he heard two loud cracks. The two mercenaries with rifles dropped to the ground in a heap.

 

Carver couldn’t tell where the bullets were coming from. He charged forward and tackled Marian to the ground. If there was one thing he’d learned from his time in Kirkwall, it was when shots went off, and you weren’t the one shooting, you did not want to be out in the open. A third shot rang out. Suddenly a very dead mercenary was 3 inches from his face with a large hole through his head. Carver could feel Marian trying to kick out from under him. “Stay down you fucker, or we’re ne-”

 

He looked up to see the barrel of a rather large .44 pointing directly into his face. The man was yelling, but not at him. The shooter?

“COME OUT SLAVE OR I KILL YOUR FRIENDS!”

Marian elbowed Carver hard in the ribs, leveraging his discomfort to squirm out from underneath him.

“We’re not any fucking slave’s friends,” she spat, "and if you don't point that gun somewhere else there won't be a body left for your family to bury."

Well, that was it. Carver was going to die here, on a dirt road in an eleven slum in blighted Kirkwall. His eyes squeezed shut as he heard the sound of the mercenary draw the hammer back on his revolver.

Maker forgive my sins, I did them all for family and you. Allow me into your gra-

 

That’s when Carver hear the loudest squishing noise he'd ever heard before. Marian...? He looked down to see her eyes wide and mouth completely agape. But alive. Carver's head snapped back up to their current captor...

 

and saw what can only be described as one man with his arm through another man’s chest.   
  


That was new. Even back in the army he hadn’t seen anything close to that.  
  
He could see the spiked metal gauntlet sticking through the mercenary’s chest as he looked down at it in disbelief. He heard a dark, low rumble as the hand withdrew with another sickening squish.

 

“I am NOT a slave.”

 

And that had been the first time Carver met Fenris.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time ever trying fanfiction, feedback would be beyond appreciated. Let me know what you like, what you don't, what's good, what's not, all that good stuff.  
>   
> Seriously, anything.  
> Like anything  
> Holler at JeBois.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter taking so long, turns out this writing thing isn't easy. At all.

The sounds of distant screaming jolted Carver awake. He could tell it was still dark outside. Carver sighed and rubbed his eyes into his palms. This fucking city. His first week living at Gamlen’s house he had tried to follow some screaming he heard out of the window. He had almost got jumped twice before he made it back to his bed. Most days when he woke up he just wished he could leave Kirkwall.

Not that they had an option now. Money was far too tight to afford a trip back to Ferelden. And it would all be a waste anyway. Lothering was gone. Their home was gone. Bethany -

 

Carver slid his hand around his face willing trying to wipe the memory like loose cobwebs. From what he’d seen at Ostagar, things were only going to get worse. He still remembered the sounds of Ostagar, the gunfire, the screaming, the artillery. The panic when the artillery had stopped and they could see the darkspawn torches, marching forward. It had only taken minutes before their entire unit was in full retreat. Carver looked back only once when he ran, and what he had seen...

 

He rubbed his eyes again. The past was over, he was here now, not in Ostagar, and certainly not back in Lothering. He climbed off of the top bunk as quietly as he could. Dressing in the dark was an annoyance, but he’d gotten used to it living in the army. Silently, he slipped on the shoddy bulletproof vest the army had given him before covering it with his overshirt. Before leaving he was sure to tuck his new .357 (thank you dead mercenary for that one) in the front of his pants with some ammunition his pockets. The heaviness of the gun made his pants sag slightly before he raised them and tucked in his shirt. Never want to be caught in Kirkwall without a weapon, unless you were a Peek, which Carver wasn’t, thankfully.

Not that being a Peek was necessarily bad, Carver thought. His father and siblings were PKs, and he’d even met some Peeks serving in the army that were all right. But he still remembered all the times their family had to move because Marian or Bethany did something stupid with their powers. There was the time that Marian tossed someone into Lake Calenhad when they were living near Redcliffe. Then there was the time that Beth froze the neighbor’s cat. Or when Marian beat bloody some poor kid who pushed her too hard while they were playing. That one wasn’t magic, but the kid turned out to be the son of a Templar, which meant suspicion, which meant picking up and moving again. That was when they were living near Highever? Or was that Crestwood?

Didn’t matter much where it was. It was always something they had to run from. Always from magic. Always bloody magic. But it wasn’t like any of it was anything serious. Just stupid pranks gone wrong or dumb kid stuff escalated. He just wished somehow the Templars could figure which Peeks truly needed to live in under watch, and which were smart enough to responsibly use their powers, like Beth or Anders.

 

Carver grabbed a small bit of moldy bread before he left to go to the Hanged Man. Isabela had promised him some work this morning, and work meant coin, and coin meant that, at the least, he wouldn’t need to work through the day on a stomach of moldy bread.

The sun was just starting to rise over Kirkwall. Dawn was Carver’s favorite time of day in the city. He used to love afternoons back in Lothering, the cool breeze sweeping across the plains. Watching the fields move when wind would blow through. Slowly at first, then faster as the winds picked up until the grain looked like waves on the ocean. Marian never understood why Carver liked to just sit and watch the fields move. She would get bored and run off to practice her magic, or talk to the travelers that would pass through enthralled by their tales of the great cities of Val Royeaux, Cumberland and the like. But Carver loved the days when he was able to just sit out and watch the crops wave in the wind enjoying the clean smell.

 

By comparison, in the afternoon Kirkwall cooked under the beating Free Marches sun causing the whole city to smell like a mixture of hot garbage and dead fish. The early mornings were tolerable enough however. The city was still sleeping besides the few merchants with enough entrepreneurial spirit to have their store open early, and the criminals smart enough to do their business while the guards changed watch.

As it turned out, Isabela’s job had to do with later, surprise of all surprises. The elf and her were already drunk by the time he arrived at the Hanging Man. Anders was there as well, looking surly as ever. Wasn’t exactly a bad look on him. When he didn’t look too grim, he was even a little handsome. In a rough Anders sort of way.

 

Anders looked even better later that day when he used his powers to make a fireball hurtling his way fizzle out in front of his eyes. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the couple of bullets that managed to find their mark on Carver’s chest.

Carver grunted as he removed his bulletproof vest. He could already tell he was going to have a few bruised ribs in the morning.

Carver glanced around the now abandoned warehouse. Anders was skimming through the pockets of a few recently deceased goons who had decided that a bunch of crates was worth dying over. Isabela was busy charming their employer for a larger cut of the profit...

 

And the elf was staring at him. Intently. That was usually a precursor to having one’s heart ripped out. Carver shifted around on his feet nervously.

“You’ve been shot. It seems you are adept at taking bullets.” Carver was pretty sure this was the first words that the elf had ever spoken to him.

“Umm… Thanks?” Carver wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that.

“It was not truly a compliment.” The elf hadn’t looked away from him. It was, well, unnerving. Carver felt like he was being sized up. He tried to make himself as look as impressive as possible.

“Wasn’t really a thank you either.” At least that got a smirk out of him. He didn’t look nearly as predatory with that smile.

 

“Your fists are wounded as well.” Carver looked down at his hands. His knuckles were busted open on his right hand. Shit. He had forgotten about that. Some idiot tried to charge him with a knife when he was reloading during the fight. Carver had punched him in the face until the man had gone limp. He hadn’t noticed the pain during the fight, but looking at his hands now, he could tell they were going to hurt like hell in the morning. “I could help you with that.”

Carver thought about it for a few seconds. The elf was smart about many things. He was a natural while fighting. Carver had never seen anyone move like him around a battlefield. He would slink around, moving from cover to cover never getting trapped, rarely being seen. It was brilliant how he did it really, cleaving across the battlefield, like a ghost or a specter.

Did he trust the elf with handling his wounds? It was a nice thought, but Anders was a PK who did nothing but heal others all day while he wasn’t helping his brother or Isabela. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with Anders for this.”

The elf grimaced. “And you find that to be a wise idea?” Carver shrugged. Wise enough. Wiser than risking internal bleeding at any rate. “Regardless, that was not what I was referring too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your combat in hand-to-hand situations. It is… lacking.” Carver clenched his fists in anger.

 

Ow.

Fuck that hurt.

Maybe the elf had a point.

 

"We should meet alone then. Err... To train I mean."

The elf nodded. "I agree. Day after next?"

Carver nodded back. "Day after next then. Now where'd Anders get off to? My ribs aren't going to heal themselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout outs to everyone that threw me kudos for my past writings, much love, inspired me to keep at this, probably would've definitely given up without it. Means a lot to see that somebody out there is enjoying reading this, even if I have approximately about 0 confidence in my writing ability.
> 
> As always holler at your boy, and let me know if there's anything about my writing you particularly like, dislike, etc. etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shortest of chapters. Sorry for taking so long, I was going to make this much longer than it is, and got so caught up trying to write it all. Then I realized, I can split up the chapter. SOOOOOOOOOO, that's what I'm going to do. Gonna do my best to get the next chapter out faster next time.

Marian stared deeply at ruby set inside of Flemeth’s amulet. The gold chain trickled between her fingers until its full length draped from her hand. The gem churned within with deep orange hues when caught in the light.  
  
  
“We should just sell it.” Marian glanced upwards towards the distraction with just her eyes, leaving her head tilted towards the ground. She hoped Carver would get the message. “What? We need the money. And it’s not like that witch will know.” She almost couldn’t keep from scoffing.  
  
“You do remember this is a woman who transformed into a high dragon before our eyes right?” Carver rolled his eyes before standing up. “Besides, this,” she gestured towards the amulet with her free hand, “is teeming with residual PK. If I had to guess, if we try to be rid of it, it will get rid of us.” And, Marian thought, with this level of psychokinetics in such a small object there has to be some ambient power to be gleaned. She shook her head. Not enough time, no way to know if the amulet had any PK that would come to effect long term. “No,” she exhaled deeply through her nose, “no, we have to take it back. We’ll leave tomorrow morning, we should reach the mount by the sun’s peak, be back before -” Carver’s face had contorted into a face of clear annoyance. She snapped curtly, “What.”

“I’m busy tomorrow, I already have plans.” Carver pulled up his pants to adjust for the weight of the gun tucked in his pants.  
  
“Fine.” Carver wasn’t bad at what he did, but he wasn’t the only man with a gun she knew. “I’ll take Isabela, Varric, and the elf with me.” Carver’s face was doing that thing again. Suppose using his words was just too difficult. “What now?”

“Well, I think the elf is going to be busy. With me.” Carver shifted his gaze to his feet, bouncing slowly from one to the other, “And he does has a name you know.”

 

Marian palmed her face with both hands, “Fine, I’ll take Aveline.” Fucking Carver, can’t just solve a problem for once, “be sure the fuck is worth it.”

Marian was so thankful she couldn’t see his face through her hands, because his voice was truly embarrassing, “His name is Fenris.” She almost didn’t hear his breathy follow up, “and we’re not fucking.” Oh, how fucking shocking.

  
What an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout outs again to everyone throwing kudos to my work, both registered homies, and the guests (much love for the guests, I was a guest reading works for years before I finally deciding to write this). Always dope to see people are enjoying my writing, as bad as I am. As always holla at cha boi.
> 
> Edit: Can't believe that I almost forgot to mention, huge shout outs to ObsceneYodeling for being the first person to bookmark my work and to invisibleShadows for being the first person to comment. Not looking for beta-readers right now (not sure I really deserve it), but it did wonders for my self-esteem.


End file.
